


If you were 22 forever

by 1000trillionpercent



Series: Amen [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Cuckolding, Established Relationship, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Maneater plays in the distance but it's sexy, Multi, Necrophilia, Nephilim Armie, Rimming, Succubus Timothée, This Timothée is not the sweetheart we've all come to love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000trillionpercent/pseuds/1000trillionpercent
Summary: There’s a voice in the back of Armie's head that often reprimands him that being a bypasser, to witness atrocities and simply do nothing to stop them, is nearly just as abhorrent as committing the actions himself. But what if he’s already worn himself thin trying to help, and all attempts are fruitless. What if this thing is simply meant to happen? Should he blame himself for the balance of nature? It's not as though a wild animal could be tamed in an easy fashion anyway.





	1. I'm afraid God's gonna teach me a lesson

Timothée is, in a sense, admirably consistent. Refusing to let the world sway or change him, despite the thousands of years he’s existed within it, is an effort equal parts baffling and commendable. Though, in certain ways, it is the source of Armie's emotional confliction.

 

He’s tried for so long to fix this one singular imperfection, the one thing that he’s convinced himself separates them from happiness… But he’s well aware that’s an impossibility, that this is woven into who Timothée is. And he’s being forced to face it again.

 

\------

 

Timothée acts like Armie has a choice, like he has to beg for Armie to come along.

 

_“We haven’t done anything together in so long.”_

 

_“Saoirse will be there, she’s been wanting to meet you in person.”_

 

_“What if something happens to me? What if I get dragged into a dark alley? What if some creep tries to drug me? I don’t think I can defend myself very well, I can’t go alone, Armie.”_

 

_“Don’t be a buzzkill. You never want to have fun.”_

  
_  
“It’s Daddy’s favorite holiday, we’re going out tonight if you like it or not.”_

 

And most notably,

 

 _“Haven't you seen the news?_ **_So many_ ** _people have gone missing recently._ **_That could happen to me_ ** _.”_

 

As if he couldn’t see the wicked smile on Timothée's lips. As if he doesn’t know what this request really means. 

 

But, who could say no to Timothée?  


\------  


Timothée persisted that dressing up was mandatory. As if this couldn’t be more mentally testing.

 

Armie vetoed the devil costume instantly. Timothée snickered, waving the plastic packaging in the space between the two of them. 

 

“But it's perfect.” He pouted, “Do you have no appreciation for irony?”

 

Armie stood firm, not even giving a verbal response when Timothée held up a Jesus costume and gave Armie a toothy grin. Eventually, Armie just ripped the cheapest werewolf costume off the rack and began walking towards the cashier. He didn’t give so much as a look back when Timothée scoffed and murmured _‘Cultural appropriation, much?’_ in a mock-offended tone.

 

\------

 

“How is it?” Timothée's voice is softer, higher. 

 

Armie looks up from his phone and takes in the sight. His skin is more tan, though it’s barely noticeable. It makes Armie think of summer, the fleeting thought he’s often had of inviting Timothée out to the island he grew up on. Of showing Timothée his world; perhaps giving Timothée his first emotional connection to the planet he’s inhabited for so many centuries. The gorgeous freckles that pepper his cheekbones and shoulders are darker, each individual dot demand the full attention of whoever glances over at Timothée. His frame looks thinner, more delicate, the lines ribs and collarbones sticking out prominently as apparently he’s chosen to forego a shirt this evening. He looks like a twig that could so easily be snapped in half. 

 

His ears are longer, just barely hidden by his curls and perfectly shaped as a mixture of doe and elven, and they compliment the short antlers that crown his head. Armie tries his best not to stare too long at the dark brown shorts that hug Timothée's thighs so tightly, and he’s trying to keep himself from damning the wrap of black fabric around Timothée's hips that expertly drapes in a manner to cover his crotch. 

 

_A fawn, of all things._

  
  
He’s the portrait of innocence, fragility. Something so small and pure that it beckons the dark reaches of any person’s mind with a primal urge to capture and corrupt it.

 

Armie is certainly not immune to that desire.

 

“I was expecting you’d be a woman.” Armie muses, beckoning Timothée forward. But they both know Timothée keeps him around because of how transfixed Armie is.

 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Timothée says in _her_ voice as he settles himself on Armie's lap. It’s the first time he hasn’t flinched at the change of cadence, and Timothée is equally impressed and disappointed.

 

He allows Armie to runs his hands wherever he pleases, pulling him closer and pressing kisses on his exposed torso. He tilts his head back and hums as Armie's lips trail up to his neck. Armie sucks a dark mark against Timothée's jugular as he’s guiding Timothée's hips to grind down on his cock.

 

“Do we have to go? I don’t know if I like other people getting to see you like this.” 

 

Timothée gives a curt laugh as his hands raise to comb through Armie's hair. “Isn’t it a sin to be greedy, Armie?” But, Armie's devotion is almost admirable. It’s more than good for scratching the surface of the desires he’s been born with. “We do have a bit time before we need to go…”   


\------  


Timothée's breath hitches, and there's the distinct sound of fabric on the verge of tearing as Timothée's nails rake down the sheets. His eyes are shut tight, his lip caught between his teeth as his body rocks with Armie's rhythmic movements.

 

It’s difficult not to get caught up in the beautiful flush of his skin, the delicate arch of his back, or the uneven pacing of his breathing. He knows this could go on for days, weeks, until Timothée's entirety incoherent and drunk with pleasure, painted in a mixture of his own cum and saliva. Until Armies physically exhausted to the point he nearly can't move and Timothée is taking more from him, greedily ripping every trace of life from his body. 

 

The most unfortunate circumstance is his lack of a relationship with mortality.

 

Moments like that leave him begging for an end that will never come.

 

And Timothée eats it up, loves doing nothing more that submerging Armie in that unfathomable pain, to drink in his sorrow, and then pull back only when he gets bored of it.

 

And Armie is complacent in it all.


	2. You send from kingdom's sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry for the amount of unnecessary foreign langue yall are about to put up with

Timothée practically beams the second their ride pulls up. He slots himself in the passenger seat and immediately begins talking with the driver as Armie silently takes his place in the back. His frame is taller, bulkier, and his features are considerably more soft and rounded compared to Timothée's. Typical American beauty standard.

 

Armie sees the driver’s nostrils flare for a second before his eyebrows are drawn together harshly and he gives Timothée a confused, downright offended expression.

 

“Who’s the dove?” He hisses, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. Armie's eyes close on instinct at the title. Only people he doesn't wish to associate himself with would refer to him as that. Of course Timothée is so immediately chummy, this one’s a fucking incubus. They’ve probably known each other for centuries. 

 

Timothée glances at both of them, a mirthful smirk adorning his lips. He tsks and reaches behind him to pet the stubble on Armie's cheek with his knuckles. “ _Meae latris,_ ” He purrs, hand moving down and hooking around Armie's jaw. Armie opens his eyes and meets Timothée's gaze, and the tone of his voice is exaggeratedly pouty, almost condescending. “Et cogitat quod in _amore_ mecum.” 

 

Just as quickly Timothée's touch has retreated, and the driver is roaring with laughter. He only stops to take hiccups of air, and Timothée's eyes are trained intensely on him. Armie can’t shake how othered he feels. The laughter dies down in due time, with a relieved _“I thought you’d gone soft on me.”_

 

\------

 

When the car pulls up to the curb Armie steps out instantly, closing the door behind with much more force than necessary. He hears Timothée's door pop open and watches from the corner of his eye as the driver looks up at him, then back down at Timothée and sneers. They’re speaking in rapid Latin and Armie couldn’t begin to decipher a word if he tried. He wants nothing more than to walk away from this trainwreck. To just simply slip off unnoticed while they’re arguing and take the nearest taxi back home.

 

The tense energy between the two is cut as Timothée's laugh rings through the car.

 

“A _long_ time ago, maybe.” 

 

The driver's tone grows darker, but Timothée is paying him no mind as he's pushing the door all the way open and stepping out. He leans against the side of the car, swaying the door with his fingertips until the incubus finished talking.

 

“Just whine about it in another song, Ansel.” Timothée sighs, slamming the door to punctuate the suggestion. His gaze meets Armie's, and he rolls his eyes dramatically. 

 

\------

 

The gloves are too hot and the fake fur lazily glued to his cheeks itches like crazy. So, the night is off to a great start. It’s certainly not any easier having a blonde woman he’d never met, who’s dressed as fucking Marie of all things, poking and prodding at him like he’s her own personal dissection assignment.

 

“ _He’s a real dove?_ ” Saoirse looks over to the succubus, who smirks and takes a sip of his drink. 

 

Timothée pulls the glass away from his lips only after he’s caused an unnecessarily long dramatic pause, “An féidir leat boladh é? He’s half.”

 

She pulls up the sleeve of Armie's sweater and hovers her nose over the veins of his inner arm. It takes a few seconds before realization washes over her face. 

 

“ _Ba chóir duit a bheith in ann béile a aithint._ ”

 

There’s no real malice to their interaction, but she puts on a show of annoyance. She released her grip on Armie and her hands rose to adjust the pink bow on her head. “Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you Armie.” The fairy smiles sweetly, but there’s little sincerity to it. “Timothée? Nóiméad le do thoil?”

 

Timothée raises a brow expectantly and holds his hand out for her to drag him out of earshot. 

 

\------

 

Armie stays by the bar the entire night, only occasionally looking up from his drink to scan the room for Timothée, often with no success. He’d text if he was leaving, right? Or was this another mind game? Was the new form of entertainment leaving Armie in a cesspool of hungry malicious spirits looking for a body to rip open to celebrate the holiday? He’s already endured the painful awkwardness of turning down a young succubus that was far too touchy and friendly. She looked utterly offended at Armie's disinterest. 

 

\------

 

It’s been forty-five minutes before he hears a familiar voice again. 

 

 _Il est la!_

 

There’s a shuffle of bodies around the bar, and Timothée finally appears from the crowd. “ _Armieeee_ ,” Timothée sounds more than a little intoxicated, and he looks behind him and tugs at the hand he’s gripping. Another body weasels out from the mass of figures and Armie takes in the dark curls, fair skin, slightest hint of facial hair, and the angular facial structure before Timothée is hauling the stranger closer to his own body and in for a heated kiss. He notices Timothée has a black cape delicately draped around his shoulders and he pieces together that this stranger is supposed to be dressed as a vampire. He’s also attempting to ignore the fake blood that’s stained Timothée's lips and neck. 

 

Armie remains silent, tries to stifle the hint of jealousy that’s stinging in his chest. They complimented each other beautifully, whereas his own form against Timothée's was a game of stark contradictions. He couldn’t seem to shake the thought he may be intruding within a space that was never truly meant for him. Timothée finally pulls back, and he’s gripping the stranger's jaw and turning his head to face Armie. 

 

“N'est-il pas parfait?” Timothée's voice is deeper, his accent thick, and Armie can’t shake the desire that’s building over this side of Timothée he’s never seen. 

 

Armie meets eyes with the stranger and takes in his nonchalant expression. Timothée is whispering in his ear, one hand still keeping the stranger’s head in place, while his other hand is sliding down the black button-up vest and finally settling on palming his cock. He presses a kiss below the stranger's ear, and Armie sees him whisper one final thing before the stranger is nodding. 

 

“Fantastique. Armie, this is Louis.” He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Armie's mouth before saying, under his breath, “Let’s go home.” 

 

\------

 

Timothée's eyes, having grown dark and hazy before they'd even made it to the floor of their apartment, seek out Armie's as he said something softly, not inaudible him but certainly not in English, against Louis’s skin. Louis hummed and gave a brisk exhale from his nose as he, too, met Armie's gaze. 

 

“He wants you to watch us," Louis says, accent delicately saturating the words, as Timothée trails kisses up and down his neck and pulls his earlobe between his teeth.

 

Armie sat, dumbfounded, as he looked between the two of them. This certainly wasn’t disclosed to him beforehand. So _this_ is the mental game of the evening?


	3. The Demons Told Me Everything

Witnessing them was almost an out of body experience. This is the first time Armie’s gotten a sidelined perspective of Timothée at work. And or how beautiful it is to witness, it’s equally terrifying. Does Timothée also look at him this way? Like a feral cat that’s just found a bird with a broken wing? Armie tries to rationalize it, say these interactions are special occasions. Timothée keeps him around out of choice, nights like these never have the same guest more than once.

 

But why does it still hurt so much to watch them? Why does his stomach churn every time Louis’s lips touch Timothée’s skin? Why does his skin feel hot when Timothée’s delicate fingers are gripping the hem of Louis’s shirt and tugging upwards, exposing lightly tanned skin on a fit frame? They slot together, mouths fighting for dominance, grinding against each other like it’s the last act of physical intimacy each will ever experience, and eagerly pull clothes off and toss them aside without care.

 

There’s a tug of war between blind rage and an ever-building feeling of arousal for Armie.

 

This wasn’t lost on Timothée in the slightest. Armie looked like he was seconds away form murder, and that only spurred him on further. Louis reeked of raw lust, unending need, and Timothée's hunger was hard to contain. Their intermixed arousal floods Timothée’s senses, and he nearly feels drunk. The look of pure fury he saw in Armie’s eyes when Louis left a mark on the curve of his neck was almost orgasmic. Louis led them towards the bed, Timothée pretending to tumble in the backward movement only so he’d have an excuse to pull Louis closer.

 

There’s a murmur of something coming from Louis that Armie Can’t quite decipher, and Timothée chuckles in response. He steals one final drawn-out kiss before crawling onto the bed, gathering a pillow in his arms and laying down on his stomach, teasingly swaying his hips, and turns his head to look at both of them. Louis’s hand is on his ass, squeezing the soft flesh firmly, lost in thought for a brief moment before he’s speaking up again. “Non. Autre manière.”

 

Timothée couldn't contain the mirth in his expression. Louis as smart, playing into Timothée’s antics without having the slightest clue. He moves slowly as he turns around. He feels the mattress dip behind him and groans softly as Louis's fingertips trace his hips. Louis’s heartbeat rings in Timothée's ears, coupled with witnessing Armie’s struggle to sort what he’s feeling.

 

Louis’s hands move up Timothée’s spine, then back down, and Timothée arches into the touch, giving the best needy gasps and drawn-out exhales, barely containing the urge to laugh when he hears Louis’s heartbeat pick up. It feels like it’s taken ages when it’s been seconds, that Louis finally leans down and presses a kiss to Timothée's shoulder blades his hands move to Timothée’s hips, over the curve of his ass, and finally to his thighs. Timothée’s breath hitches, and he can feel Louis smirking between the kisses slowly, delicately trailing down his spine.

 

When he reaches the small of Timothée’s back, Louis’s other hand moves up from its previous place on Timothe’s inner thigh, and he traces the pad of his thumb on Timothée's entrance. Timothée bites back a groan as he presses into the sensation. The perspective forces Armie to focus more on Timothée’s face than where the action is, but it isn’t rocket science to guess what’s happening when Louis’s hand retreats and the space is replaced with his mouth.

 

“Fuck,” Timothée’s voice breaks and a soft sigh escapes him “Si bien.”

 

Perhaps the stereotype was well-founded in reality. Louis has one hand holding Timothée's right thigh in place. And when Timothée arches his back and raises his hips, he's able to see that Louis's other hand is digging its nails into Timothée's ass while his thumb just slightly holds Timothée open. Louis nudges a hand underneath Timothée's legs, and pumps his cock slowly, a pleased grin in full effect.

 

“Tellement mieux que lui.” Timothée gasps, fingers curling and uncurling around the sheets.

 

Timothée rocks his hips in tune with Louis’s strokes for several seconds before the hand pulls back and Louis is taking Timothée’s hips in a bruising grip to still him. Timothée looks back over his shoulder, lips parted, eyes hooded, a masterpiece of raw arousal and Louis is eating it up. Louis doubles his efforts, and Timothée's face falls forward, forehead resting on the bed, and rocking back into Louis's ministrations as much as he’s able to.

 

When Louis pulls back, Timothée gives a pitiful whine, and he hears the other male chuckle. Timothée chances a glance up to Armie, who is dutifully avoiding direct eye contact. Louis moves behind him, hands running up Timothée's thighs until they’re resting on Timothée's ass. He sits up and leans over the smaller frame, pressing kisses to Timothée’s shoulder before leaning in and whispering something in his ear. Timothée replies softly, and Armie catches none of this, but Louis presses a kiss to Timothée’s temple and slides off the bed to rifle through the nightstand before returning with a bottle of lube in tow. He settles back between Timmy’s legs, fingers ghosting over the heated, sensitive skin before he’s slicking up his fingers and slowly pressing into Timothée.

 

The overarching jealousy and hatred Armie had been feeling is almost entirely dissipated, instead hyper-focused on the flush of Timothée’s skin and the soft noises that are leaving him as Louis opens him torturously slowly. His pace builds over time, and so does the volume of Timothée’s moans.

 

“Arrête,” Timothée whimpers, his voice hoarse, “S-Stop, I’m close” Louis just hums, pressing open-mouthed kisses and soft bites to Timothée's inner thighs as he’s squeezing the base of the younger male’s cock to stave off his orgasm. “Fuck”

 

Louis withdrawals his touch entirely, and works on slicking his cock up with lube. Timothée locks eyes with Armie and smirks, raising a hand to his lips and crudely tracing it with his tongue, soft sighs and exaggerated moans leaving him as he committed the act. Armie feels humiliated at how much the sight arouses him, and internally he tries to berate himself for giving Timothée precisely what he wants. But watching Timothée’s body lightly tremble ever time Armie’s cock twitches makes it extremely difficult to focus on any feeling more than how much he wants to devour Timothée completely.

 

There’s a hand on Timothée’s back, hauling him up on his knee’s as Louis's other hand is lining himself up with Timothée’s entrance. His back bows upwards, almost as if he's about to curl in on himself and his calves raise, feet kicking the bed a few times. His hands shake, and his fingers twist, and he takes a moment before he’s balling the fabric of the sheet into his fist and his back is sinking down into that deep arch Armie is so familiar with. Louis curses under his breath once he’s fully seated inside Timothée, and Armie resists a laugh. He sees the dazed look in Louis’s eyes, having clearly never experienced anything quite like Timothée yet, and Armie is all too aware of how immediately intoxicating the tight heat is. Louis’s hands grip Timothée’s bony hips as he slowly begins to move, which draws out low moans from the smaller male.

 

“Plus fort," Timothée demands, always impatient, chanting the last word until it’s caught in a groan as Louis picks up his pace.

 

“Gourmand,” Louis pants.

 

Timothée’s torso falls down on to the bed as his hips move back to meet the rhythmic forward snap of Louis's hips.

 

Armie’s fingers twitch his neglected cock well beyond desperate for attention but forcing himself to not give Timothée the satisfaction of losing complete control. He does, however, palm the prominent bulge through his jeans.

 

They’re so fucking gorgeous together that Armie wishes he could watch this for the rest of his lifetime.

 

Timothée’s eyebrows draw together and upwards, his eyes screwed closed tightly. His mouth switches between falling completely open and taking in shaky gasps and guttural groans, sucking in air through tightly-clenched teeth, and biting down on his bottom lip so hard the delicate flesh surrounding the point of impact is white from the pressure. His body is so overwhelmed with the warm, almost paralyzing sensation of pleasure that submerges his mind in a near-tangible haze of lust.

 

Armie can see the muscles in Timothée's thighs twitch and begin to full-on tremble. Timothée can hardly think through the pleasure coursing through him, and that's evident to everyone. “Je,” Timothe pants, his whole body shaking, “Je viens.”

 

Louis holds Timothée’s frame flush against him as he cums, hips shallowly thrusting forward as if he could go deeper as he rides out the waves of his orgasm. Timothée is a few seconds behind, falling apart with a shout and rocking against Louis’s cock still buried inside him. Armie drinks in the moment, attempting to memorize each minute detail of the spectacle laid out before him. He watches as Louis spends several silent seconds trying to catch his breath before he’s pulling out. Timothée whines, lips moving but his throat not quite transferring the verbal cues of his protest.

 

Timothée rolls over onto his back and pulls Louis down into heated kisses, leaving marks on the human’s neck, giving less-than-gently bites, and sliding a hand down to stroke his still-hard cock. “J'en veux plus avec toi” He purrs, hooking his legs around Louis’s waist. “Maintenant.”

 

“Aren’t you going to give him a turn?” Louis pants, accents heavy, looking up and locking eyes with Armie for a split second before his gaze lowers to the prominent bulge. “Il en a besoin.”

 

Timothée’s head tips back and he motions Armie forward with his free hand. Armie’s body moves on autopilot to the edge of the bed, and Timothée is undoing his pants with one hand as the other strokes Louis’s cock. “Je vous veux tous les deux.”

 

Louis looks up to Armie for a second, then down to the angel’s newly freed cock, and groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls leave comments


	4. They Whisper In The Night

It’s by Louis’s sixth orgasm, delicately painted across Timothée's upper thighs and stomach, that Armie notices the novelty has worn off for Timothée. He’s still responsive to it all, Armie notes the labored breathing from Timothée and the tremor of his legs with each thrust from either of them, but Armie is still picking up the signs of growing disinterest. And naturally, that means the night will likely have a less than desirable outcome. 

 

The seventh passes and Armie looks at Louis long enough to fully take in how awful he looks. He’s paled significantly, is near to drowning in his sweat, and his body trembles even when he’s not moving. Armie begins to wonder if this is what he looks like when he and Timothée go about this alone. _This is the image that pleases Timothée?_ It’s a hauntingly bitter reminder of Timothée's malevolent preferences.

 

\------

 

There's a full second between Louis’s last exhale and the oncoming inhale, and it seems as though Armie is the only one of them that caught the blur of motion. When Louis breathes in, it's strained, and when his chest flutters and a cough leaves him, blood blossoms from his mouth and the now-visible gaping wound stretched horizontally across his neck. A few droplets land on Timothée cheek, a rather large one audibly hitting his chest, but he's unfazed. In fact, Armie’s sure he heard a groan, but that's not surprising. He even rolls his hips, fucking himself on both their clocks seated snugly inside him, and he’s wiping the blood off his face with his middle finger and running his tongue along the digit. 

 

Timothée holds Louis up with his hands, giggling with absolute glee as the human sputters and grabs at his throat. His torso is coated in the neverending stream of blood and Armie shuts his eyes tight as he can feel the warm crimson flowing down onto his skin too. The horrible coughing and gurgling come to an end, and Timothée lets out a series of breathy curses and soft moans as he cums. 

 

It takes several seconds, and Armie feels the two bodies moving and hears a fair amount of shuffling. Timothée gets off of him, and he felt the weight of what he assumed to be Louis’s body flop down on the bed next to him. There’s an awful sound of wetness and ripping mixed with Timothée's rushed and muffled exhales. Armie opens his eyes slowly but keeps his vision focused on the ceiling. Between the noises of wet chewing and soft shuffling, there is now muffled whimpers. With much hesitation, Armie rolls his head to the left and takes in the display inches from him. Timothée is straddling Louis’s lap, slowly rocking his hips on the Human’s cock. He’s holding Louis’s arm up to his mouth, and it makes Armie’s stomach churn when he sees the chunk of flesh missing from Louis’s inner wrist. 

 

Armie looks back to the ceiling and tries not to think too hard. Attempts to block out the rock of the bed as Timothée's speeds up. Tries to block out the noise of Timothée's bare teeth ripping flesh and skin from Louis’s corpse. Attempts to block out The telltale little sighs and whines that indicate Timothée's coming again. 

 

_ To no success.  _

 

\------

 

“He had a wife, you know” Timothée singsonged, waiving one blood-soaked severed limb and in Armie’s direction before tossing it carelessly onto the floor. ”Got married last summer.” he faux-swooned, stretching himself onto the cold and wet blankets. “Do you think they’ve started trying to build a family yet?” a pause and Timothée's tone lights up in the way that makes Armie’s skin crawl. _“Should we assure there's a little miracle to cheer her up from this terrible news?”_

 

The sound of Timothée's wicked laughter has Armie's stomach twisting. He's being entirely serious, and they both know it. Perhaps that's most of the reason Timothée didn't pick from the herd of young women that were more than throwing themselves at his feet. 

 

_ What's the fun if there's no real chaos to it?  _

 

That's what his entire breed operates on. 

 

Armie continues to focus on the fixed place on the ceiling, seconds from praying a meteor strikes his exact location right now. Timothée shifts and straddles Armie’s waist, his lips trailing up Armie’s chest, along his jugular, tracing his jawline. He exhales softly against Armie’s ear, and Armie hates the way the heat makes his spine tingle. “Wasn’t that fun? Aren’t you happy you listened to me?”

 

There are claws pressing into his shoulders, they feel like tiny pinpricks now, but he knows how much worse it can get. 

 

_ “I’m still hungry.” _

 

Armie takes in a shaky breath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it feels so good to finally have this monster finished  
> pls give the goblin some comments

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://1000trillionpercent.tumblr.com/) // [Photoset](http://1000trillionpercent.tumblr.com/post/180911831598/amen-a-charmie-au-read-it-on-ao3-playlist) // [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/crankyplier/playlist/5syn5L6Zrio1BMbzLNKnWa?si=SURDbgH1R2KsA5uJLMaXTg)


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